Hope It's Nice Where You Are
by androidilenya
Summary: In the days after his victory, Haymitch spends some time alone with his ghosts. Well, one ghost in particular. And there are just some things that need to be said. Oneshot, Haymitch and Maysilee. Rated T for the inevitable alcohol use.


**Hamitch and Maysilee oneshot for no apparent reason? Not sure where that one came from.**

**I own nothing, The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins and last I checked I wasn't her.**

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_I'll get you,_ the District One girl whispered, face a mask of blood, the axe embedded in her skull. She reached for him with her terrible cold fingers and he felt them close on him, pulling him closer.

_No,_ he tried to scream, _This didn't happen, no, _please...

Her fingers were around his throat, ice-cold, choking him. He struggled, trying to cry out-

He woke, gasping and thrashing, clawing the sheets and throwing them from him. Panting, he stared into the darkness, feeling his breath rasp in and out.

He was alone. No one was coming to kill him, he was safe-

(and he was alone, and that was what was wrong)

He wrapped his arms around his knees, shivering, and the tears finally came, spilling hot as blood over his cheeks. Great, shuddering sobs racked his body and he screamed into the silence, a wordless cry of grief and pain - he no longer cared who heard him.

"Shh, Haymitch." Her arms enclosed him, warm and invisible. "It's okay." He took a deep breath. Her scent was warm and floral and vibrant - had he forgotten that? Her body had smelled of death, an ugly, dark smell, something they couldn't show you through your television.

He closed his eyes, tears leaking from under his lids, fell asleep in her arms, and did not dream.

~x~

She was waiting for him when he returned to the house that he still couldn't bring himself to call home, arms laden with bottles. He could feel her eyes on him as he kicked the door closed and spilled them out on the kitchen table, her gaze exasperated and worried. There was no one else in the house, and never would be.

"You're too young to drink, Haymitch."

He snorted. "I can do what I want. I'm a Victor." The word left a bitter taste in his mouth - because what price had he paid to earn the right to speak it?

(her face in the sky, her blood on his hands, and if he had known he would have never let her leave)

He unscrewed the top of the first bottle, watched the light glint off the liquid sloshing around in it. He'd never done more than sip this stuff, and that had been on a dare when he was eight, playing around with his brother.

_He's dead, too. They're all dead. I killed everyone I loved by staying alive._

He was alone, and maybe that was right. The thought made a cold, angry smile twist his face. He lifted the bottle to his lips.

"Haymitch Abernathy! Don't you_ dare_!"

The liquid spilled over his tongue, down his throat. It felt like he'd poured actual fire into his mouth - he'd forgotten how much it burned. Choking, sputtering, he slammed the bottle down, eyes watering.

"You're dead," he managed to gasp out. "So don't tell me what to do." He couldn't look up, because he knew what he would see on her face - disappointment and concern and pity, things that hurt him as much as it had hurt when to hold her in his arms and watch her die, as much as it had hurt to see his mother and brother and girlfriend gunned down by the merciless men in the white uniforms.

He took another swallow, and it burned as much as the first. He welcomed the fire, welcomed the pain, because anything was better than this cold loneliness.

~x~

He couldn't remember how much he drank and how much ended up splashed on the walls and floor of his nice new house when he started throwing things. He did remember hurling a bottle against the wall for the second or fifth or tenth time and seeing it shatter, glittering pieces raining down on the smooth wood of the floor.

He remember falling to his knees and seeing the blood well up on his palms, and _remembered_...

(blood and pain and her face in the sky)

Her eyes as they parted ways, mouth half-open as if she'd been about to say something, how he'd turned away before she said something that made him stay. Her screams as she was torn apart, as he watched helplessly, as he held her hand and waited for her to leave him again.

How it had felt to know she was dead.

Bile rose in the back of his throat, a different kind of burn, and he found himself on his hands and knees, retching. His body shook, something warm and wet spattering the backs of his hands.

(he had cried then, holding her in his arms, screaming at the sky)

His arms buckled and the floor rushed up to slap him, driving a shard of glass into his cheek. He rolled onto his back, stared up at the ceiling and felt the blood roll down his cheek and into his hair like tears.

~x~

He surfaced from dreams of darkness and blood and terror to find her standing over him.

"Haymitch, you're only hurting yourself," she whispered. "Can't you just forget?"

He rubbed his forehead, feeling the splintering pain that lurked behind his eyes. "I can't forget." His voice was rough, cracked. "I'd lose you again." He groped for the bottle that was still beside him and took a swig, spilling cool liquid over his chin. Some of it found its way into his mouth and it burned the back of his throat all the way down.

"Oh, Haymitch."

He reached for her, slow and clumsy, but she was just out of reach.

~x~

Someone had come in and cleaned up - he didn't know who, nor did he care. He sat in the middle of the floor, cradling his pounding head in his hands. A few stray motes of dust floated in the golden bar of sunlight streaming through the window. The light hurt his eyes.

"Are you there?" he asked, half-hoping, half-afraid.

"Of course." She frowned down at him. "I hope you've learned your lesson, Haymitch. I told you you shouldn't drink-"

He laughed, a short, mirthless sound like breaking ice. "I've learned a lot recently, thanks. I think I'd like to stop learning things now." _Things like killing. Things like betrayal. _"Make yourself useful and get me some more liquor."

Her frown deepened. "Haymitch..."

"Oh, but I forgot." He closed his eyes. "You can't. Because you're dead and I'm only talking to myself."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I wouldn't be the first Victor to go mad." That word again - it still hurt. "Why you, of all people? Why not my mother?"

"I don't know." She folded her legs, sat in front of him.

"What's it like over there?"

She paused, long enough to make him open his eyes, make sure she was still there. "It isn't bad," she finally said, and nothing more.

"'Not bad', huh? That's all you have to say?" He let out another laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Nice to know I didn't doom you to an eternity of pain, though."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Oh, but it was. Just let me sit here and wallow in my own guilt, why don't you?" He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. "Go away."

She laughed, clear and calm, and he winced at the sound. "Never. I'm not leaving you this time, Haymitch."

"But I was the one that left you!" he snarled, exploding to his feet, holding his hands out to the empty air. "I refused to turn back and that's why you died! It was my fault, and no one else's. I shouldn't have-" His voice cracked and he buried his face in his hands. "I shouldn't have left you." Quiet, broken words that fell into the silence, and he almost wished he could unsay them, but it didn't matter because she wasn't there, not really.

"If you hadn't-"

"If I hadn't left you, you'd still be alive."

"And you'd be dead!" She said it like it was something he was supposed to care about, and he shook his head.

"That wouldn't have mattered." He held out his hand, watched as it closed around nothing. "Stay with me, Maysilee. Please."

"Always." Like a promise, like it couldn't be broken - even though she wasn't really there, and every time he tried to touch her she faded. But it was better than the alternative.

_I can't go on, not without you. But maybe with you... maybe I could bear it._

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**~end~**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.**


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